


Love in an Alleyway, Livin' it up when I'm Goin' Down

by wehangout



Series: Gallavich Week 2015 [2]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M, Nipple Play, Semi-Public Sex, Sexual Content, a little bit of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-15
Updated: 2015-06-15
Packaged: 2018-04-04 12:46:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4138107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wehangout/pseuds/wehangout
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He doesn’t say much as you head back towards the neighbourhood, and you’re pretty fucking grateful for it, because all you want to say is stupid shit about how he looks good and how you want to suck his dick and how you want him to stop fucking other people.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love in an Alleyway, Livin' it up when I'm Goin' Down

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Gallavich Week 2015. Day 2 - Let's get Kinky.
> 
> I played around with some lyrics from "Love in an Elevator" by Aerosmith for the title. I had to. It was too easy.

It’s a stupid job, one you could do with your eyes closed, but it’s money, and you’re never one to turn down easy money. It’s not easy, though. Moving bricks from one end of the construction site to another is the kind of dip shit job anyone could do, but it ain’t fucking easy.

It’s the middle of fucking summer, you’re wearing a goddamn hard hat, and you ran out of water two hours ago. Your head pounds with every fucking step you take, and all you want to do is tell your _boss_ to stick his fucking job up his fucking ass. But you can’t, of course, because Terry scored you this job.

That’s what he says, anyway. You’re pretty sure you’re doing this to pay off some of Terry’s debt, but what fucking right do you have to complain or say no?

So you wear your hard hat and your high-vis vest. You eat your PB&J sandwich that you threw together that morning. You ignore the three other guys you’re working with because they talk too fucking much and you just want to get the damn job done.

And you think about Ian. You think about Ian working in the air-conditioned convenience store. You think about Ian sucking way too enthusiastically on a popsicle. You think about Ian fucking you in the walk-in fridge. You think about Ian looking at you and licking your skin and fucking you. You think about Ian because it’s all you’ve been doing since that day you walked out on him at the Kash and Grab.

You think about Ian and wish like fuck the day would go faster.

And then he’s there. Standing across the street, backpack on his back and paper bag in his hand.

You stop what you’re doing and walk over to him, taking off your hard hat as you go. The first thing you notice is the small bead of sweat behind his ear. The second is the way his nipples stand out behind his t-shirt. The third is that his ears are slightly sunburned.

“The fuck’re you doing here?” you ask, throwing every ounce of annoyance into your voice, but he just grins knowingly and holds up the paper bag.

“Figured you’d be hungry.”

“’Course I’m fucking hungry. You ever lug bricks up and down the street all day?”

“Nope.”

You grunt in reply. He continues to grin as he slips off his bag and digs around inside.

“Water?”

You take the offered bottle and down half of it in one go. You proceed to pour the rest over your face and head, and don’t give a fuck what Ian and his stupid smile think about it.

“Hot out there, huh?” he asks.

You flip him off, pass him the empty bottle, and head back to work. You’ve still got about twenty minutes until you finish; Gallagher can wait.

But he doesn’t wait. He’s right behind you the whole way, and when he reaches down to help you stack bricks into your wheelbarrow, you say nothing. No thanks, no fuck off, nothing, but you know it’s the right response if his smile is anything to go by, and it is; you know it is by the way your heart jumps at the sight of it.

Not that you care. Except that you totally do. Because Ian didn’t come to visit you in juvie this time. Because Ian was fucking some other dude when you got out of juvie. Because Ian didn’t stop fucking other dudes once you were out of juvie. So yeah, you kind of do care that you’re making him happy - even if it is in the smallest way possible - because making Ian happy has almost become a thing.

A goal.

It will take time, no fucking doubt about it, but it’s there, in the back of your mind, a constant idea that you think you could one day make happen. You don’t know how … well, you have a fair fucking idea, but you’re pretty sure Ian wants you alive more than he wants you _out,_ so you push that one away - but you’ll get there slowly, and getting there slowly means _making an effort_.

That’s what you’ve come to think of it as. You make an effort. You time your walk to work at the Kash and Grab so you meet up with Ian just around the corner from your house and walk the rest of the way with him. You go with him when he asks you to help him train for his ROTC crap, and don’t pretend you’re not checking him out the entire time. You don’t make a fuss when he wants to fuck you face-to-face or tells you to ride him.

And you go along with it quietly when he helps you at work.

When your phone buzzes that it’s 6pm, you pull your hard hat off and wipe at your brow with your arm. “Fucking finally.”

Ian runs a hand through his hair. “How much you getting paid for this shit?”

“Not enough, man.”

He snorts and walks with you as you head back to the area holding your belongings. You try to ignore him, you really fucking do, but it’s just so damn hard, and he’s just so damn hot that you kind of stare at him for half of the walk back. You stare at his muscled arms, his flat stomach, those fucking nipples that stick out from beneath his t-shirt. You stare at his mouth, at his hair, at the damp skin of his neck.

You stare at the bolt of his jaw and desperately want to attach your mouth to it.

You swallow heavily and look away. You walk into a small room, Ian on your heels, and grunt as the other guys wave goodbye too fucking cheerfully.

Ian chuckles. “Such a team player.”

“Fuck you.”

He picks up his bag, sticks his hand in it again, and comes out with another bottle of water for you. This time you can’t help but grin as you take it from him, but you do attempt to make it last. After a few mouthfuls you offer some to him, but he shakes his head.

“Wanna get outta here?” you ask, doing up the lid.

He nods, and he’s got that look in his eyes he gets when he thinks he’s going to get laid. He’s right, of course, but you ignore the look and begin down the street.

He doesn’t say much as you head back towards the neighbourhood, and you’re pretty fucking grateful for it, because all you want to say is stupid shit about how he looks good and how you want to suck his dick and how you want him to stop fucking other people. And you know he’d love it - probably even agree to all three with a dumb smirk on his face and not a second thought - but you can’t bring yourself to do it.

You’re still half an hour away from your neighbourhood when he says something that clearly expects an answer.

“Was thinking about sneaking into a movie tonight; you keen?”

You undo the lid of your water bottle and side eye him. “Or we could just fuck.”

He grins. “Or that.”

You stop walking. He follows suit immediately. There’s no one around. The industrial area is thinning out, houses popping more and more the further down the street you go. You can hear kids yelling and screaming from somewhere close by, but there’s not a single person in sight, and, shit, the sun is still out, but it’s getting pretty low in the sky, and you just don’t give a fuck.

You snag him by the sleeve of his shirt and drag him with you, down a dingy alleyway, past an ugly green dumpster, and beneath the El tracks. He stumbles along behind you, his gangly legs making the whole fucking thing more difficult than it has to be, but he doesn’t put up a fight and that’s all that matters. He doesn’t fight you when you push his back against the alley wall, he doesn’t fight you when you grab his bag and throw it to the ground, and he doesn’t fight you when you take a step back to stare at him.

“Mick?” he finally asks, after you’re done nothing but stare at him for far too long.

“Shut up,” you mutter, because you know he wants to know what’s going on, but you don’t know what’s going on. You have no fucking clue what you’re doing. All you know is that you want to do things to him - filthy, desperate, wild things that make no sense to you except for that one driving thought: Ian is still fucking someone else.

That’s what it keeps coming down to. Ian is fucking someone else and you have no one to blame for that but yourself. So you’ll do filthy, desperate, wild things to him if it means you’re all he thinks about.

“Mickey?”

You meet his eyes briefly before your gaze shoots right back to his nipples, and fuck, why do nipples suddenly turn you on so fucking much?

With a noise that barely comes out as anything but a choked whisper, your surge forward and seal your mouth to Ian’s jaw, right on the bone at the corner, and bite hard. He groans immediately, hands going to your waist and pulling you close. You let him - there’s very few things you won’t let him do these days - and slip your hands beneath his shirt. He’s hot, damp, and sticky, and you want to move your lips down, lick and bite at his chest and stomach, explore him like you’ve never let yourself do before.

But because you’ve never done it before it makes you nervous, self-conscious, so you only move slightly lower and take a patch of Ian’s skin into your mouth. You suck and bite, nip and lick, not stopping until he’s gasping your name and you know there will be a bruise within a few hours.

You pull back and lick your lips. That overwhelming urge to lick and taste all of his skin hasn’t left, and you want it enough that you refuse to let your own insecurity get in the way of what you really want.

You push at his t-shirt until it’s tucked beneath his armpits and lower your head to his nipple, licking and sucking and biting and tasting and doing everything you’ve ever wanted. And Ian, fucking Ian, groans loud and deep above you, threads his fingers into your hair, and desperately moves his hips in attempt to get some kind of friction on his cock.

You pull away and grin. Who the fuck knew that your sudden interest in his nipples mirrored his apparent enjoyment in having you play with them. You take the other one into your mouth, gripping it between your teeth and rolling it gently, flicking your tongue over it until Ian gasps your name and pulls you away.

He watches you, eyes dazed and lips dry, and you know he wants to kiss you - almost consider letting him - but you drop to your knees before he can really get into the idea.

“Shit, Mick,” he says, looking down at you and then all around the alleyway, neck twisting to see over the dumpster. “Anyone could see us.”

You know this. And you’ve thought about this. You’ve thought about being able to fuck around with Ian wherever the fuck you want with no worry of interruptions or, even more so, getting the shit kicked out of you. You’ve thought about being free to do whatever the fuck you want with Ian whenever the fuck you want to, wherever the fuck you want to, and you know it’s not a possibility - probably not ever - but it’s something you’ve thought about.

This is different. This is fucking around with the worry of interruptions and getting the shit kicked out of you, and finding it totally fucking hot. Not the shit-kicking or being disturbed before the good part, but … the possibility of getting caught by a stranger is kind of hot.

You open his too-tight jeans and tug them down to his thighs, your mouth literally watering when his hard dick pops free.

“Mickey, wait -” He stops when you look up at him and stares down at you for a long moment. “What if someone sees?”

His voice if so raw, eyes so fucking dark with want. You palm yourself through your dirty jeans.

“What if?”

_“Fuck.”_

And it’s not that you want to get caught, but the idea of someone catching you and Ian, of someone catching you and Ian and liking what they see … it’s fucked up and it’s making you fucking crazy.

You lick your lips and lean in, take Ian as far into your mouth as you possibly can, and relish in the noises that fall from his throat, the guttural moans that escape as he tries to speak actual words. You grasp his hips and bob your head, licking and sucking, fucking dribbling down your chin in what could be the messiest blow job you’ve ever given, but Ian just shudders and groans in front of you, loving it.

All your other senses seem to fizzle out as your hearing increases; the rush of blood in your ears, the noises Ian makes above you, the slurping your own mouth makes; a siren in the distance, children still screaming somewhere, cars driving past on the road you were just previously walking down …

And then chatter. A lot of chatter. Ian grabs at your hair, tugs, and you pull off with a pop to look up at him. His eyes are wide and he’s outwardly terrified enough for the both of you. You let go of him with one hand to wipe at your chin as the talk - and a whole lot of footsteps - get louder, closer, until they’re right at the mouth of the alley.

A group of teenagers pissing around during their summer - you really don’t give a fuck. You stick out your tongue and lick Ian from base to tip, causing him to hiss in a breath. He tries to peak over the dumpster, but you don’t want his attention anywhere except on you.

You dig your nails into his hips until he looks at you. Making sure he’s still watching, you lick at the head of his cock, suck gently at it, and move one hand down to his balls. He pants above you, gaze flicking between you and the mouth of the alley, and it’s not enough. You need him solely focused on you, fucking into your mouth, coming down your throat.

People are still talking at the end of the alley, but you pay them no mind. You take a breath through your nose and suck Ian down until you can feel him against the back of your throat. You swallow a few times, try to sort out your gag reflex, but Ian comes, quickly and quietly, his hands and nails grasping at the wall behind him as he stares down at you in awe.

When you pull away, the last of the chatty teenagers make their way past the alleyway, and you grin up at Ian.

“Holy fuck,” he mutters.

You grin, happy to have the exact reaction you were after. He pulls you up by your shoulders and goes for your jeans, but you push him away. “Later.”

“Huh?”

You smirk at his confusion. “Later. We’ll meet up once I’ve showered and you can eat me out again.”

His entire fucking face lights up. “I thought you said that shit was gross?”

“It is. Doesn’t mean I don’t like it, though.”

“Uh-huh.”

And despite the shuddering mess you just turned him into, despite making him come while a bunch of teenagers stood nearby, Ian smirks that fucking smirk again. You flip him off and head out the alleyway.

“Nice hickey,” you call on your way out, just to get in the last word.

 

**Author's Note:**

> [Find me here!](http://wehangout.tumblr.com/)


End file.
